Semper Idem
by Narsus
Summary: Yuletide insecurities and hope... [Draco's POV] (Slightly slashy)


**Semper**** Idem**

Disclaimer: Characters, settings etc belong to J. K. Rowling and her respective publishers and associates.

Semper idem – always the same.

Semper fidelis – always faithful.

- Collins, _Latin Dictionary_

Shounei-ai / slightly slashy? It all depends on how you read it.

* * *

**Draco's**** POV**

There is snow falling around the manor this year. Of course there is always snow if father wants there to be snow but this year it is of the natural sort, not conjured on a whim. For some reason father likes the snowfall, often goes walking through it alone. He doesn't take mother with him and I've not walked at his side since I was little. Then again, he doesn't really speak to mother all that much these days. Though I'm not sure that she notices. She is probably, imperceptibly, gradually going insane. With each passing year she retreats further and further into her own world. Or perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps she is not mad at all but simply coping in the best manner with the life that has been presented to her. Her husband does not love her, has never loved her. Her sisters are either dead or mad. Her cousin is a blood traitor, the shame of their line. And her only son looks at her with a stranger's eyes.

In which case, she's coping quite well, I think.

Behind me, behind closed doors and acres of corridor the crème de la crème of wizarding society gather for Yuletide celebrations. The lavish Christmas parties that we hold at the manor, every year without fail. Tonight might even be the highlight of the winter season, I can't remember. The party to which only a select number are invited, though the list changes every year. Of course it is the only party that Severus Snape bothers to attend and even then, more due to my father's insistence than any reason of his own. Strangely enough, what the other attendees don't know is that father's ever changing list of _acceptable_ company is dictated not by their standing in his eyes but the inscrutable whims of the Professor.

"If I am absolutely _forced_ to attend then I shall dictate the terms of my attendance."

So he said to my father one winter and my father was only too willing to comply. The very idea of it still astounds me sometimes. Not that the Professor wields so much power over others but that no one ever seems to notice. But then, I've always maintained that Gryffindors and their ilk are blind to that which they don't wish to see.

I linger by the window and find myself wondering what it might be like to flee this house, to rush headlong into the snows and loose myself forever. Of course it wouldn't be quite as romantic as all that. I'd get a bad case of frost-bite before the hypothermia took over and even then I think father would probably just dispatch some house-elves to come fetch me. And I'd spend Christmas Day ill, in bed for my troubles. Though Professor Snape might come visit me, with father following behind, scowling. So it probably wouldn't be worth it.

I should go join the party. I'm rather obligated to really and Pansy will be there, and Greg and Vince. And if I'm lucky Blaise… But going downstairs seems like too much effort right now. So I'll give myself another moment, or so I tell myself. Another moment or two to gather my wits and adjust my mask of a face. To prepare to head back into the throng who have nothing to say to me and whom I have nothing in common with… save that we are Pure Bloods and Slytherins and universally damned.

Time to go back and join them, to be the cold and arrogant Draco Malfoy who commands their attention by the very fact of breathing. The platinum-haired son of Slytherin, who is all cool wit and sophisticated polish. Whose sophistry is nothing short of fantastical.

Turning from the window I step up to a nearby mirror to inspect my reflection. My skin is like porcelain, no ungainly flush touches these cheeks, my hands are perfectly stainless, my robes fall into the smooth lines that they were designed to, not a hair is out of place. Only my eyes betray something other than arrogance. In their misty depths I see my own despair, my utter hopelessness. I feel myself tremble but I can not afford to cry, not here, not now. The world awaits me and yet here I am shaking. The sense of my own helplessness that has been threatening to crush me for so very long suddenly rises up to consume me. I cover my face with my hands and sink, unsteadily down on one of the couches.

I can't face this, all these people, all their expectations. It's all too much and surely I must fail. Because we are caught between the Dark Lord and the Wizarding World's saviour. Because there will always be war between Pure Bloods and Muggle-borns. Because, because, because…

Feeling like a coward with every step, I slip out of the room, intending to make my way back to my own room and hide for at least the rest of the evening. No one else is here to see me but still I slide silently along the corridors, like a thief rather than the scion of the Malfoy line. But at the end of one corridor I hear voices that make me freeze. The familiar cadence of my father's voice carries though I can't yet hear his words. Hiding myself in a nook in the panelled corridor I carefully lean round the woodwork to see who my father is talking to, so very discreetly.

He stands at the end of the corridor by a large stained-glass window and of course, he is talking to the Professor. They have their heads bent closely together which is why I can't hear them that clearly. And forgetting my previous melancholy, I am suddenly curious to know what it is that they whisper to each other in the fading light, far from the ears of others. But just as my interest peaks then move apart a little and it seems like whatever conversation they've been having is over.

"Semper idem." Says the Professor. _Always the same._

"Semper fidelis." Corrects my father. _Always faithful._

I can only watch, thankfully speechless, as my father takes the Professor's hand in his own and they lean together again. I quickly turn away before I can see any more, quickly making my way off in the opposite direction.

And perhaps Gryffindors are not the only ones who are blind to that which they do not wish to see.

As my hurried steps take me downwards, seeming unthinkingly towards the party that I had so recently resolved to hide from, I can't help but remember my father's words. _Semper__ fidelis_. Words that I had always associated, until today, with duty and honour. Words, that on my father's lips spoke volumes of the depth of duty and honour and love. Breathed with a passion and dedication that he'd never shown my mother. Not out of cruelty but simply because she and all others would be forever eclipsed by the great and terrible shadow cast by the one he did love.

And as much as things might always remain the same, as much as the day after tomorrow and tomorrow would be forever repeated, it was enough to give me some small hope. As strange as that might be. Like the blossoming of verdant roses in the darkness or the fluttering of a silver banner over Hogwarts Keep.

_Semper__ idem._

Because we are Pure Blood.

_Semper__ fidelis._

For duty and honour… and love.

* * *

Merry Christmas!

17:20, 24/12/03

22:29, 20/07/05 (edit). Corrected Malfoy hair colour, due to a review bringing to my attention my inability to pay attention to canonical details.


End file.
